


Acciaccatura

by katesfire



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Imprisonment, Multi, Pain, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katesfire/pseuds/katesfire
Summary: She needed to lick her own blood from the lips of her punisher. Tuvok couldn't... wouldn't give into her like that, nor would she have let him. He gave her just enough to sustain her when she was drowning.  – Encore: A Counterpoint Vignette – Katesfire





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/gifts), [MiaCooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/gifts), [Helen8462](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/gifts), [cheile (Cheile)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheile/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Encore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200020) by [katesfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katesfire/pseuds/katesfire). 



> Inspired by and part of the Counterpoint Vignettes.
> 
> A special thank you to Cheile, my writing-sis and Beta, to Mia Cooper, Little Obsession, and Helen for their incredible entries in the Counterpoint Vignettes which I had to borrow from, to Jeri Taylor for Mosaic which also helped set the scene, and to the authors of the episode Counterpoint.  
> Also, a big thank you to everyone who commented on Encore and were intrigued by a 2-paragraph section which referenced Tuvok. Those comments helped this come to fruition.
> 
> The characters are not mine. I merely let them out to play.
> 
> Ac•ciac•ca•tu•ra /äˌCHäkəˈto͝orə/ noun: comes from the Italian verb acciaccare, “to crush". (i.e. a grace note performed as quickly as possible before an essential note of a melody, and falling before the beat.)
> 
> skrăgh-terhăn – Roughly translates into filthy human or human piece of shit.
> 
> ***********************************************************************************************************************************

            The violent, black ocean swallowed her up in its soul-crushing darkness. Even the frothy waves that crashed against the surface were tinted in shades of grey. The maw of the abyss yawned below her, drawing her down to it, threatening to devour her. Her soul battled what was left of her sensibility, begging to be released to the demons that clawed at her from the mouth of the abyss; to be given over to the salvation that was her undoing in their clutches. She fought the current, dragging her in, knowing that though she could still see those muted, frothy swirls above her in the ebony waters, she was already lost.

            Responsibility hung on her shoulders like a dead weight. It was hot in her chest as her cells burned away what oxygen she had left, waging a war within her body to preserve her life force, begging her to breathe.

            She did. As the red rimmed her vision, followed by the blackness that would overwhelm her into oblivion, at the last second, she took a breath. Her senses restored, the ocean receded, the demons vanquished to the edge of her consciousness for the moment.

            It was her fault. Mangled bodies. Crewmen who were permanently disfigured and would never serve in Starfleet again. Fault was as vicious a bedfellow to her as responsibility. It was the manacles that weighed her hands and ankles, helping her off the ledge into the darkness that would feast on her. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the fault she wrestled with over her ownership of responsibility for both her father _and_ Justin being dead because she couldn’t choose one over the other. Crewmen were missing body parts that were irreplaceable because she _had_ made a choice. And it had been wrong.

            So, she had ripped a page out of James T. Kirk’s space-cowboy handbook. _That_ hadn’t done her any favors, either. His fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants and fast-and-loose-with-the-rules behavior had been tolerated. Hell, it had been celebrated in his day. But, not now. And the Admiralty had been entirely too clear about their lack of approval of her complete failure to abide by procedure.

            They had assigned her a babysitter.

            Her storm had turned into a hurricane when they had added insult to injury. They had all but stepped on her face and kicked her in the ribs while she was already prone on the ground. She was seething inside.

            The dark-skinned junior officer sat there. Judging her in his cool, calculated, Vulcan manner. _Wasn’t he a little_ old _to be a_ junior _officer?_ He meticulously ticked off every minute discrepancy of her mission while proverbially gutting her in the process; leaving her with hardly a scrap more dignity than the Cardassians had left her when they had stripped her and ran their scaly hands over every centimeter of flesh and in every orifice, they possibly could.

            The crushing blow had been when the Admiralty assigned him to her; to serve with her during her next command. That they were even giving her another command surprised her immensely. The tiny reprieve from complete defeat which she accepted was that if a Vulcan could have been unhappy about the assignment he was given, this one certainly was. She could fathom that he was not entirely prepared to receive such an assignment, nor was he appreciative of it. Unfortunately, he still had the upper hand, regardless of his disgruntlement with his new position. She could almost picture him hovering at her elbow, PADD in hand, ticking off every nuance of the orders that issued from her mouth as they rolled off her tongue; leaving her to constantly reanalyze everything she said in an attempt to glean what possible interpretation he would take from it to paint her in the most negative light possible. It was going to drive her insane. She had heard of command officers who never recovered from the assignment of a babysitter. She was certain she was on the cusp of kissing her Captain’s pips goodbye. Maybe that’s what they were going for? To make her so crazy she would just slink away and quit. If that was their endgame, they had another thing coming.

            No. She had to make friends with the Vulcan. She had to stay on her toes. She had to win him over to her side. She had to make him understand that she could not possibly command with him hovering. She had to convince him that he could review everything she did, from somewhere other than _her_ bridge. Perhaps on the other side of an airlock.

            But she couldn’t think about that now. She was in far too dismal a place to sort out exactly what she was going to do with her new Vulcan shadow. She had a week of leave and she was determined to excise the demons back into submission before she took her next command and she knew just where to go to do it, too.

 

******

 

            Risa.

            The carnal epicenter of the sector, possibly even the quadrant. Where one could play in the most lurid and depraved fetishes with anonymity. There wasn’t a kink in the universe that didn’t go unattended on Risa, with a few exceptions due to universal legalities. But, even those legalities were pushed to the limits by some of the back-alley clubs where admittance was only permitted with the right credentials.

            Officers and civilians alike flocked to the hospitable paradise with a promise of “what happens on Risa, stays on Risa.” The governing body of the planet was determined to cater to all desired pursuits to destress and forget about life for a while from the mundane to the most exotic. They were also very careful about protecting the privacy of their guests from prying and profiteering eyes. And, though they were well-intentioned and highly organized in their security, paparazzi do what paparazzi do, and respect for local customs and laws were not always within their vocabulary.

            The notion of pleasures and perversions staying on Risa was more of an unwritten courtesy than a requirement and, people tended to talk, particularly when the subject of discussion was interesting, political, or otherwise. Officers had to be particularly guarded if they had any intentions of climbing the ranks. A casual mention about Risian pursuits could turn into a career spoiler.

            In her younger days she had turned her nose up and tuned out tales from her peers about their exploits on Risa, but over the years she had found an appreciation of the pleasure oasis. However, she didn’t take any chances of being identified or potentially photographed in a compromising position, always donning a disguise before she arrived planet-side.   

            She was brunette for this trip with honey colored eyes. Cosmetic modification was not something she regularly utilized for reasons of vanity. She had left her skin-tone though she wore heavier make-up than usual. She enjoyed watching the alabaster break like glass, rivers of red seeping through the cracks, threatening her limits as the physical pain engulfed her senses, drowning out the emotional monsters that seemed intent on devouring any grip she had remaining on what was pure and sane.

            That is what brought her to the Klingon BDSM club off a dark alley, away from the glittering, flashy clubs that offered pursuits of pleasure for purposes of arousal with massages and aphrodisiacs for the normal, unbroken souls. Hers wanted, no, needed, something more aligned with the darkness within. She needed to wriggle in steel at the mercy of her punisher to find herself again, to be reminded of her center, to be clarified of all that threatened to consume her from within, to purge the darkest corners of her very existence. She needed to feel how it felt to be utterly broken only to rise like some demented phoenix, a shell of her former self containing an essence of lunacy that had even given the Cardassians pause in the pursuit of her broken body. She had been born again in that room, in a convoluted way, proving to those beasts that even she, a small human girl, could turn the tables on them in their torture game. She could fuck with their heads, too.

            Every now and again, the part of her that was broken, that would never be right again swelled inside of her like a storm over an ink-colored ocean and the whirlpool would threaten to drag her down into the abyss until she marshalled the fervor of her soul to battle, reminding the demons within that she was the conqueror and they the conquest. They were at her doorstep and she was about to answer their call. 

            Cardassians were few and far between in this part of space so she opted for the strength and brute force of the Klingons. Maybe it was the Klingon ritualistic glorification of the battle that brought her to this club. In a parallel way, it complemented her own battle with the dark forces that lived within her, that infected her like a dormant virus that woke up now and again and sent her running for an inoculation.

            She rapped on the door and gave the password, glancing over her shoulder into the shadows as she entered, almost certain that she felt a pair of eyes on her, but she brushed off the feeling upon seeing no one behind her. She was always concerned someone would spot her and, right now, the last thing she needed was a photo of her entering this place landing on Admiral Paris’ desk. Disguise or no disguise, she knew Owen would recognize her without a doubt.

            Koldaith was a master in the discipline of the perversion she sought. She had discovered him through careful and discreet questioning at a bar on a previous trip. It had taken several bars of latinum and a couple of well-placed fingers on a pair of Ferengi lobes to obtain the password, but it had been worth it. He had pushed her to her breaking point, had given her everything she desired and needed while she had mastered the art of deception, allowing him to believe he was in full control of her body, her mind, even her soul. He humiliated her, he tormented her, he tortured her, reminiscent of her experiences in a dank cell many years before. She had nearly fallen victim to him.

            But then she remembered. Or more muscle memory took over as it was almost a seamless transition to writhing in agony under his lash to rising from the grips of her demons. Her life force burned bright, winning over that which threatened to extinguish it and suddenly, she found her center, she found her control and she was taking from him; mastering the master. He struck her with a pain stick and she challenged him with her eyes, demanding without speaking a word. His power metaphorically stripped from him as there was a pause in his next jab, uncertain as to how she turned the tables on him from being his victim to commanding his next move.   

            She entered her private room after paying the doorman. This would be her _cell_ for the weekend. Implements of pleasure, of pain, of desire and distress lined the walls. Shackles hung from the ceiling and the walls, were affixed to the bed which was made from a spongy, liquid resistant polymer. One look at it told the viewer that it wasn’t for the comfort of the individual who would occupy it.

            Comfort was something she did not deserve. She was certain her crewmen were less than comfortable with contorted and missing limbs, assured in the knowledge that she had caused the end of their careers and their new occupations as dependents.

            She stripped off her simple dress and folded it nearly, placing it on the stand in the corner. She hadn’t brought any additional clothing with her as she knew she wouldn’t leave this room the entire weekend. Koldaith expected her nude. He didn’t like to bother with clothing restricting him. The removal of such was beneath him. On her last visit, she had left her panties on and he had used them as a gag to punish her for her oversight. This time, she hadn’t bothered to wear any.  

            Her master entered the room as though on cue. She didn’t struggle. Without a word, he gestured in an upward motion and she raised her arms, the manacles sliding over her wrists then clamping down. This is what she had paid for. To be his complete prisoner, his submissive. To remember when she had barely been more than a child on her first mission only to die in a cell and be reborn as some demented version of her former self.

            She deserved this.

            Three careers were ended because of her.

            The sizzle of a Klingon pain stick electrified the air.

            Three bodies, mangled.

            Her fault.

            She flinched against the pain but didn’t cry out. She refused to give him the pleasure.

            She wanted more.

            The next zap was at least double. She winced but still kept her silence.

            “You are resilient today. No matter. I will break you,” he promised.

            Years ago, she had forged a new existence in that Cardassian prison cell. Years ago, half crazed from the torment, she cracked and rose like a phoenix from the putrid filth of that cell. This time, she was seeking a similar reckoning from the demons that feasted on her soul and poured her full of guilt.

             Koldaith was impatient. He released the manacles and she dropped to her knees involuntarily, her body aching from the pain stick. He unceremoniously picked her up then flung her face down over a wooden cross, leaving her spread eagle and vulnerable. She liked that he didn’t waste any time with the niceties. She felt his muscular thighs between hers, standing between her spread legs. He never checked to see if she was ready and she suspected he didn’t care. As he pushed his weapon into her, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, his girth stretching her unprepared opening, she felt an old, familiar stirring within her gut. The prey waking up, battling back from within, determined to become the victor. He would feed into exactly what she needed, what she had to have, what she had to _feel_ to survive and overcome the roiling black ocean that swallowed her from within. He would invoke the same salvation she found in that dank cell all those years ago. She needed to break to be reborn.

            None of that mattered to Koldaith. He had been paid to do a job. To dominate her. To punish her. To fuck her. He was her whore. He didn’t need to know the history to play his role well.

            Before he could stroke into her again, the door behind them swung open, startling her. Koldaith didn’t even have time to respond to the intruder before he dropped deadweight to the floor. She flipped herself off of the cross and her eyes went wide when she found herself gaping into the nearly black eyes of the Ensign who had recently dressed her down in the presence of the Admiralty at their request. She covered herself with an arm, crossing her legs one over the other discreetly. _Shit_. He took this babysitting thing a little too seriously. It would be her luck.  

            “Captain Janeway, please come with me,” he requested in his cool, even tone.

            “Ensign?! What in the fuck are you doing here?” she snarled, recovering herself enough to slip behind the room divider near where her dress was hanging. She was furious. What right did he have to spy on her during her leave? She felt violated on a level far deeper than what she had originally ordered for the weekend.

            “It has occurred to me, Captain, to inquire the same of you, though with less colorful expletives.”

            “I believe, _Ensign,_ that what I do in my off hours is _none_ of your business.” He’s lucky they weren’t on a holodeck on a ship somewhere. She very well might have thrown him out an airlock. She knew her face was colored red and it was more from the level of fury than her own embarrassment at having been caught in such a compromising situation.

            “Captain, if you do not leave with me immediately, I will be forced to report your presence at this establishment to Admiral Paris and the review board.”

            She slipped her dress over her head. She was not about to leave with him, but she also wasn’t about to continue the argument while standing before him nude, either.

            “You have no right to meddle in my personal affairs. As for reporting my off-duty activities to Admiral Paris and the review board, I highly doubt that your assignment included spying on me during my personal time, _Ensign_.”

            He was unwavering. “The activity in which you were participating within this establishment is such that it would be considered unbecoming of a Starfleet officer. Shall I quote the regulation to refresh your memory, Captain?”

            She was cornered. She knew it and she hated him even more for it. “I am aware of the regulation, Ensign. But, may I point out to you that your activities of spying on a senior officer also constitute behavior unbecoming of an officer?” Unfortunately, she anticipated his response.

            “My orders, Captain, are to report to the Admiralty, your behavior and ability to maintain a command position. I would be negligent in my duties if I did not include leave activities that are a physical endangerment to your person and call into question your mental fitness. Since it is your intention to remain and pursue this activity, I am left with little alternative.”

            The fury in her chest was suddenly monumental compared to the blackness that swam around her vision and tried to suck her into its depths. She suddenly had more pressing concerns to deal with other than her own fucked up desires.

            Her father wasn’t here any longer to be embarrassed by such a report… but Owen. Oh, how could she possibly explain to Owen how fucked up she was? They didn’t talk about their shared horrors… her spending days listening to him scream until they exhausted of him and decided it would be fun to hear what her screams sounded like. She had covered her ears, curled into the fetal position in that disgusting cell, listening as they ripped away his pride and his dignity. She wondered if they had raped him as well. But she doubted it. No, they saved that flavor of torture for her, she was sure. She didn’t dare tell him the depths of her fucked-up-ness. She’d convinced the counselors that she was fine, that she was resilient, that she bounced back. She never told them what she had become in that cell. She never told them she tasted her own blood off the lips of a Cardassian Gul. She never told them, in her half-crazed state, that she _liked_ it. She devised her own _therapy_ and it served her well. If Owen knew… the guilt he already carried was so much that they never talked about what happened. If he knew… she couldn’t bear it.

            Kathryn watched as he took two steps back towards the exit. He would do it. He left no doubt in her mind that his next move would be a communication to Paris, and then what? A demotion? The end of her career? Tuvok exited the room and left her alone. A psychological evaluation, at the minimum, was for sure. She couldn’t stand that possibility, let alone the others. She’d be damned if she was going to face trying to justify herself to some shrink with a judgmental chip on his shoulder.

            So, she was left with the option of trying to reason with Tuvok. The odds were slightly better. He was a Vulcan and he had obviously spent years mastering the discipline of emotional suppression. Certainly, he would be able to understand the logic of her _therapy_.

             As she left her room and made her way towards the exit of the club, she noticed the thickly built Klingon guard slumped against the wall near the door with an angry looking purple bruise along the bundle of fibrous tissue that ran between the shoulders and neck.

            “He became hostile when I attempted to enter.” Tuvok stated simply, altering her to his presence beyond the entrance as she stepped over the burley man’s legs and she exited the club into the alley.

            She glowered at him. It pissed her off even more as she realized that he had anticipated her. “You don’t exactly fit the description of the typical patron to a place like this. All of that Vulcan control.”

            He cocked an eyebrow at her in a very Vulcanesque manner. “My _Vulcan control_ is the result of a mastery of self-discipline. Some Vulcans struggle with that control throughout the duration of their lives.”

            She honestly didn’t care about the struggles of his people. She was more concerned with whether he was going to report her and how to shake him as her tail, so she could go about her business. “Were you really going to report me without hearing my side of the story?” Perhaps his comment about mastery of self-discipline had opened an avenue for her to logically justify herself to him.

            It had occurred to him that she likely had a reason for her presence in the establishment, however, his experience with humans had not left him with the best impression of most of their species. They liked to attempt to make logical justifications in the most inappropriate of ways, drawing erroneous conclusions based on faulty premises. It seemed a means of delaying or even diverting attention to avoid the consequences of their poor decisions. He said as much to her as they exited the alley and turned towards the resorts that lined the beach.

            “I’ve taken my punishment in excess before any crime was committed. I suppose now I am using my free pass to learn about the experience since I have already paid for it dearly.”

            He puzzled at her words for a moment. “I fail to understand the connection. The location from where we have just come is often utilized by individuals seeking punishment...”

            “Or release,” she quickly interrupted, waiting for his logic to lead him along the bread crumbs of understanding. Maybe she was expecting too much of him, to understand the emotional complexities when he had spent a lifetime suppressing rather than exploring them himself. His realization never came, or if it did, his face never betrayed him. She wasn’t about to throw him any more pieces to the puzzle in such a public setting.

            They finished the walk to the transport station in silence; her wondering at his thoughts as he hadn’t yet replied to her hasty addition to his verbal pondering.

            “Are you still planning to report me?”

            “I have gleaned nothing from our conversation that would provide an adequate explanation for your presence at that establishment for any purpose other than the perverse. Additionally, I have received no reassurance that you do not have any future intentions to return in the future.”

            She signed in frustration. He was, indeed, an over-glorified babysitter. His statement alone was enough to tell her that he would continue to monitor her. She may as well have slapped a comm badge on her chest and told him to keep an open link with her.

            “If there were only a way I could show you what I cannot adequately explain with words alone.”

            He paused, she turned to him, appraising his features, trying to read him. It was dark and his smooth, coffee-colored skin looked as soft as velvet. His eyes reminded her of the black onyx stone in a pendant her mother used to wear on a chain around her neck. She didn’t know him well enough to gain any insight from subtle changes in the muscles beneath the surface of his dark complexion.

            “There is a way,” he finally stated as they stepped onto the platform and she requested transport back to the resort where she had reserved a room for the rest of her stay after her weekend in Koldaith’s dungeon.

            When they rematerialized near the beach-front and seemingly endless row of resorts, she waited until they left the station to resume their previous conversation. It wasn’t one that she desired to be overheard. She asked what he had meant by their being a way.

            “I could initiate a mind meld with you.”

            Her instant reaction was to hate the idea. She attempted to conceal any indication of her feelings before he could look at her face. Allowing him access to the inner privacy of her thoughts was something she abhorred. Her mind was her own, the ultimate private place of her that had been kept free from the ravages of the Cardassians while they had bent, broken, and abused the innocence of her flesh. But, there really was no other way for him to know unless he experienced it through her own memories. Of course, there was also the consideration that he was a stranger to her. Fellow officer or not, she wasn’t exactly prepared to have him go rifling through her most private thoughts as casually as one might page through a leather-bound book.

            “I can assure you that I am experienced in conducting mind melds.”

            “It’s not your experience that concerns me,” she replied, evenly. “I don’t want you delving into every memory of my life.”

            “In this instance, I would not be _“delving into every memory”_ of your life. If you consent to the meld, Captain, I would merely be an observer to what you choose to show me. I would not invade any part of your thoughts or memories without your consent.”

            From a trusted confidant, his words may have been reassuring. From a stranger, she hated the idea. She had no assurances he would keep his promise. Vulcans, as a species, were noted for lying, which said nothing of the individual. She factored both into her deliberations. Though the darkest secret she held, at the moment, was that which infected her inner sanctum and it was that which she needed him to see. Anything else that he might have a glimpse at: her guilt over her inaction and inability to make a life choice for one but not two, her regrets over Cheb, her fears and worries about inadequacy were far inferior to the memories she held of hours of hearing Paris’ screams, of feeling cold, scaly hands roughly stroking her skin without her consent but without control to stop it, of hearing her own screams and wondering at who would be screaming and what must be happening to them to cause such an awful noise, failing to recognize the sounds had been produced from her own throat.

            He might insist otherwise, but right now he sat in judgment of her with only his perceptions. This might be her only avenue to setting the record straight and convincing him that she had a logical reason behind her presence at the club or, a methodology to her self-prescribed therapy.

            “I have a room at the Luna Breeze.” It felt like an awkward invitation and even more peculiar to a man who was a stranger. It wasn’t her habit to pick up one-night stands. Even as she and Mark were currently in the slow transition stage from friendship to dating, she still hadn’t invited him to her apartment. She hadn’t even slept with him yet because, well, with Mark, nothing was ever hurried. They just sort of morphed into the next stage at their own pace, which she was completely fine with. Justin had understood her. She wasn’t ready for the conversation she was going to have to have with Mark because he wasn’t the type of man who would ever be able to rise to the demand when the black maw yawned open for her. And, she wasn’t the type who would be unfaithful. It was a crossroad that she would traverse when she reached it.

            Maybe he was her hope for normalcy; that she could send this viciousness within her into permanent remission by pretending long enough to be normal and to surround herself with what was normal and comfortable and known. Mark was certainly comfortable. Good, old reliable Hobbes Johnson. Boring. Mundane. Normal. She often felt like she was reaching for an illusion that refused to be tarnished by the likes of her.

            Perhaps that’s why she gave herself over to Tuvok’s suggestion. He was safe. She wasn’t sure how he knew that, but she sensed it. From her research into his personnel file, she knew he was married. But it was more than the words on the PADD. She felt a strange calm as she walked next to him to her room. He was reliable. He was trustworthy. It almost felt like she was in the company of an old friend rather than a stranger, even though she was still perturbed by his invasion of her privacy. Was that a premonition of things to come? Would their mutually undesirable assignments give way to a friendship? Did Vulcans even have such relationships parallel to their emotional suppression? What was a friendship without an emotional attachment between the parties? Or was it merely comfort with the presence of the other and being able to rely on them, anticipate them, trust them? Maybe a friendship like that wouldn’t be so bad.

            She tapped the code to her room and the door swished aside, allowing them to enter. She expected to feel awkward with him in the confines of her room, but she didn’t. She wondered if Vulcans had empathic abilities like Betazoids and could temper the emotions of those around them. She didn’t think so, but then again xenobiology at the Academy was many years prior and she would have to brush up on her studies to know for sure.

            Wordlessly, Tuvok moved across the room and selected two chairs form the dinette set and positioned them facing one another. He stood, waiting for her. After she took a seat, he sat across from her. He was all business and she appreciated that.

            “Is it safe?” The question seemed a little absurd considering the physical abuse she had paid for to be inflicted upon her by a rather large Klingon just a short time before. Nevertheless, her mind was far more precious a commodity to her than her physical form. She recalled having skimmed over some opinions by Starfleet doctors about the procedure and they had been mixed, at best, on the viability and safety of mind melds, despite the insistence by the Vulcans that they were perfectly safe and that the benefit to both parties to the meld were, on the whole, positive.

            “Neither of us will sustain any harm.”

            It wasn’t exactly the resounding affirmative she had hoped for and fell somewhere along the lines of reassurance from an advocate of mind melds without saying yes. She believed they referred to that as the “politician’s answer”. It would have to do.

            “What do I have to do?” she asked, curious yet still ill at ease that she was going to be sharing some of the most intimate and degrading experiences of her life with him.

            “Remain calm. I will make the connection with your permission.”

            She nodded and he raised his hands, fingers apart and paused until she nodded her consent then he placed his dark fingertips against pressure points on her face. As he recited the incantation, she allowed her eyes to drift closed and prepared herself as best as she could to take him on a journey through her mind, back to a time when she was a young, fresh-faced Ensign on her first mission.

******

            If he hadn’t been a Vulcan, he would have been thrilled just to touch her. He gripped his emotions tightly and reinforced his mental control. If he hadn’t been a Vulcan, he would have found her attractive. He would have reveled in the notion of letting his demons play with those within her that he instinctively knew existed. There could be no other explanation for her presence at the club where he found her.

_The moment he touched her, he was transported to another place and assaulted by an odor memory. It was vile and most unpleasant: a mixture of humanoid waste, blood, and rot. He became aware they were in a dark cell and the air had a dank quality to it._

_Guttural screams punctured the silence of the disgusting cell and Tuvok was left to conclude they were from a male, though he couldn’t determine the species just from the screams. Then he became aware of a small, humanoid female and from the emotional undertow from his present-day companion, he knew it to be a younger version of herself that lay shivering on the cold floor. He accessed her memory flow and found himself experiencing the memories as though they were his own. The younger Kathryn was praying for sleep, hypothermia, a sudden onset of a coma. Anything to allow her to blot out the sounds of the screams from the cell down the hall._

_*You were a prisoner?*_

_He saw the incarnation of her present-day self standing next to him, appraising the visualized memory of younger self. It was almost as though they had stumbled into a convoluted holodeck that transported them into her past._

_She nearly chastised Tuvok for his lack of attention to her personnel file, until she recalled that Paris had sealed that record due to the involvement of Justin and the other Rangers. She suddenly felt peculiar about revealing Justin, until she then reminded herself that his assignment as a Ranger no longer mattered since he was dead._

_Tuvok sensed the cycle of different emotions as he caught fleeting glimpses of a memory of a young man with dark hair that was quickly banished. He was gratified that his training gave him the ability to conceal his own thoughts from her rather easily. He didn’t need her becoming aware of the things he would do were he not Vulcan and if he didn’t have control._

_*A_ Cardassian _prisoner. This incident occurred during my first mission.*_

_*Admiral Paris?* he asked, after another scream. She confirmed this with a nod. He had known Paris had been a prisoner, though he had never taken the time to read Paris’ intelligence file. He wondered at why being a prisoner had never been mentioned in Kathryn’s file._

_*It is impressive that you continued in your pursuit of a Starfleet career, Kathryn.*_

_His use of her name in her thoughts was surprising, but she should have anticipated as much. The unorthodox contact between the two of them was not exactly within protocol either so she decided that rank was best left beyond the threshold of her room at the resort._

_He felt her emotions transition as the screams of the Admiral stopped. She was staring at her younger self, a feeling of loathe passed through her and he found it a curious sensation in juxtaposition with what he believed would be an event that fostered a new, stronger incarnation of herself. He considered commenting but decided better of it. He was not interested in engaging in a psychological debate over her emotional response to her younger self._

_*What is it that you are holding back showing me?* He would never have admitted to himself or her that he was feeling anxious, even curious to see exactly what inhumane torture she endured._

_Had she been delaying? She took them to the cell in her mind, but this was before the Cardassian bastards had even laid a finger on her. She had been left alone without food or water with only the sounds of Paris’ screams to edge her towards insanity. She closed her eyes within her mind, blotting out the scene, immersing them both into blackness._

_She took a breath._

_She wasn’t sure if she was mentally preparing herself or somehow trying to mentally prepare him for what he would see._

_She exhaled._

_No one had ever been able to see it all nor had she ever verbally told anyone the full extent of what had happened within that cell._

_She inhaled._

_This was it._

_She mentally opened her eyes._

_Tuvok found himself resisting an urge to jump aside when the door to the cell suddenly was flung open and the doorway was filled by a large Gul. He entered the room and was followed by two equally large guards. It seemed physically impossible for so many bodies to fit into the cell, but of course, this was only a memory they were replaying in Kathryn’s mind._ They _weren’t really there in that cell. Meanwhile, his companions loathe had transitioned to mix of remorse and sympathy for her younger self. She knew how it would play out. Had he not been a Vulcan in full control of his own darkness, he would have been sitting poised on the edge of his seat._

_He watched with detachment, secretly knowing his inner demons were clawing for release from the confines of his mental restraint. Two of the men grabbed the young woman, though one would have certainly been sufficient. They stretched her out on the filthy floor as the Gul unlashed his belt and dropped his trousers to his ankles. He then was on his knees between her thighs, hovering over his victim like some monster ready to go in for the kill. When the moment came, she shrieked. Tuvok smelled her blood as he watched with sickly rapt attention. It was like watching a shuttle disaster: he couldn’t force himself to tear his eyes away, it was the carnage that demanded attention despite the bile that rose within. The third guard hid the horror of her expression, silenced her screams as he knelt over her face. She fought, but she was physically no match for the two that had her pinned to the floor. Her body responded, moistening for her assaulter. She hated the her body for the betrayal, for making their assault on her any easier._

_He felt his companion find a place of cool detachment as she watched the scene play out. She had lived it. She had found a numb spot to hide herself and he was grateful, once again, that she could not reach through his control to find his inner thoughts, that she was unaware that this was probably the darkest, most vile memory he had ever had the privilege of viewing. Those were the dark, putrid pleasures of his controlled demons. Dark memories of violence, destruction, of the decimation of another being that were shared like a secret black market when he was a young man and not so self-disciplined. Though he had control, that sick, demented young man who thrived on emotional chaos still demanded to be fed now and again. And tonight, he was getting a feast._

_The Gul and the guard spent themselves in the small young woman. Her strength was gone, and she sputtered for breath. The guards that held her were able to release her and sandwich her between the two of them, producing a string of screams from her exhausted body._

_From a distance, a shout of “You fucking bastards!” reached their ears. It was followed by an increasing array of insults and expletives from a hoarse voice as her screams echoed off the walls of the cell. Paris. He could hear her._

_Kathryn had forgotten that. Or maybe she had only subconsciously heard it over her own screams, and she felt the gut-wrenching horror that she knew Paris had to be suffering as he listened to her screaming. She then noticed what appeared to be a recording device in the corner of the cell._

_“Bastards,” she hissed._

_Tuvok’s concentration on the scene was broken and he turned to her then followed her line of vision to the ceiling and saw the recording device._

_“They made him watch. All these years, I never even noticed it…” she trailed off. No wonder why they never discussed it. He had been forced to_ witness _it which left her wondering exactly how much he witnessed. But deep down, she knew. He knew how fucked up she was. And yet, he said nothing. He had to have believed she healed. She wondered how it would affect him to know she had only swum deeper?_

_The guards left her on the ground, somewhere between life and praying for death. She was a disgusting, bleeding, sticky mess and she lay where they left her. Pain, humiliation, numbness were only the beginning of the internal mess she was left with._

_“It felt like hours.”_

_“Perception is relevant to the passage of time.”_

_“They left me like that. I drifted in and out of awareness. A Cardassian woman will come in and bathe me and sort of heal some of my wounds. She was probably told to heal me just enough that I didn’t bleed out. I have a fuzzy memory of her, of feeling hopeful at seeing another woman, believing she might help me. She was disdainful, almost like it was beneath her to be bathing me. She called me a whore. I had been raped and yet I was the whore. She wasn’t gentle about cleaning me up and seemed even more perturbed that she actually had to touch me. I think she resented that I had survived because if I hadn’t, she probably could have just shoveled my body out with the rest of the waste.”_

_As her younger self passed out, waiting for the Cardassian woman to come along, the cell went dark. Kathryn moved the memory along, skipping over the dreams she’d had during her brief flit into unconsciousness. She didn’t care to share with him the pathetic dreams she’d had. Her mind had still been that of a young girl and some cliché fairytale dream of a knight in shining armor rescuing her from a dungeon had filtered through her unconsciousness. She moved them forward to the next encounter. The one that broke the remaining fibers that held her former self intact._

_Tuvok wondered why she avoided him seeing her dream state but didn’t muse on it too long. They were back in the cell and her younger self had been given the liberty of an ill-fitting white dress that was scarcely long enough to cover her and nearly see through. It even looked as though her hair had been brushed and a spot of rouge had been rubbed across her lips. Maybe it was blood._

_“She dressed me for him and sat me up in the corner on that stool like a doll just waiting to be played with. She said if I was going to be a whore, I may as well look my part for him. Maybe that triggered something in me. If I’d had any courage at all, I would have hung myself with the dress before he could come back.”_

_He felt an array of feelings from her: pity, annoyance, contempt, loathe, anger, perhaps even rage. He was surprised that these feelings were directed at her younger self. “Your feelings towards yourself are illogical. Your youth and relative inexperience left you ill-equipped to manage this situation.”_

_“These are the last moments in which I was still… me. Sweet Kathryn who played tennis, who wanted nothing more than to be a Starfleet officer the likes that would impress Daddy, who would one day blush as her Daddy kissed her cheek before giving his blessing to some young man who would marry her, who would take a cozy posting on a passenger ship and start a family. She dies in this cell. I am the broke, twisted remnant that remains.”_

_Before he could question further, the room was invaded by the Cardassian Gul. He was alone this time. He likely didn’t see her as any match for himself and didn’t feel the need to bring reinforcements, though Tuvok had little doubt they were close at hand._

_“Look at you, made up so sweet and innocent looking,” he said as he slowly approached her. “Venla didn’t do you justice. She should have dressed you in something sultry. I have bedded prostitutes that were virginal compared to you. You certainly will fetch a hefty price, a human whore that takes her men four at a time and screams for more.”_

_Young Kathryn gazed at his boots until he reached her. He put out a hand and tipped her chin up to look her in the eyes and she gave him an empty, innocent look. Tuvok felt a flash of expectation from his present-day companion, watching the scene, foreshadowing what was to come._

_“Come now, my dear, just because Venla picked the entirely wrong attire for you doesn’t mean you need to play the chaste role with me. I know what you like, dirty girl.”_

_If she’d had panties on, they would have been wet. She loathed herself for that._

_"Sultry little minx, you could almost make me want to keep you chained up in my private bed chamber for myself. You would like that, wouldn’t you? Mistress to an important Gul like myself. But honestly, what use would I have for such a little whore that is so insatiable that it takes four men to please her? You would be fucking every Glinn on my ship the moment my back was turned, wouldn’t you?”_

_She didn’t answer. Maybe it was that she was excited over her plan and he didn’t have a clue. That’s what her body was mistaking for arousal._

_“Your impertinence frustrates me!” he roared, grabbing her by the arm and thrusting her against the wall of the cell. He slid the white fabric over her ass, revealing the fleshy, globes that were marred with purple bruises then unlatched his belt, letting his trousers slide down his thighs before positioning the head of his erect member against her puckered hole. He leaned forward over her shoulder and hissed: “let’s see how loud you can scream, skrăgh-terhăn.” Then he sank his teeth into the tender spot in her neck, just below her ear while forcing the large girth of himself past her resisting barrier._

_Then she exploded in a flash of impossible movement, his teeth ripping from her throat, he was left standing with his pants around his thighs, his throbbing member tipped with her blood. She embraced him, a wild, disturbing laugh peeled itself from her throat as she hooked a leg around his hip. She grabbed his face and licked her own blood from his lips, a wild, crazy look in her eyes._

_“Fuck me!” she demanded._

_The Gul jerked back, throwing her away from him. She couldn’t recover herself and landed on the floor in a cackling heap, her lips stained ruby-red from her own blood. He backed away as she rose up on her knees, her form was that of a predatory cat that had decided upon its prey. She was poised to pounce on him as he stumbled back, cursing as he backed out of the cell and slammed the door before she leapt. She continued laughing like an insane hyena, licking the blood from her lips, as he paused to watch her for a moment, then left._

_Tuvok turned to his companion, watching her as she watched the scene. She was a jumble of emotional filaments, one burning out as quickly as another began, but there was one feeling that was absolutely certain and that was the dark undercurrent he had been keenly aware of from the beginning._

_“They may have broken me, but I defeated him. I leveled the playing field. I_ wanted _it and it ruined me for him, for them. Not a one of them entered this cell again. We were rescued two days later.”_

_Tuvok expected her emotions to ebb now that she had been able to share the experience with someone. Humans often reported a subsidence of emotional turmoil upon sharing the troubling experience, however she remained a live wire, a vibrant wave of rage commingled with arousal and self-loathe. Her demons clawed at her thinly veiled control and he was grateful again but this time for his own self-control. If he slipped, if he faltered and his own emotions, his own darkness were permitted to escape beyond his carefully constructed controls, they would become victims to this meld, permanently intertwined in a madness that neither of them would be powerful enough to break without intervention and possible brain damage._

_He had spent years carefully learning how to control, channel, and repress his demons while she had played with hers in clubs of the underworld, giving herself over to masters of physical pain to excise the emotional turmoil into submission. His was a more permanent, though not perfect solution while hers was a temporary bandage on a gaping wound that she seemed to enjoy ripping the scab from when the moment arose._

_Her methods were fascinating to him and he had an idea of how he could help her and he was powerless to stop one solitary, brief emotional slip. Desire. And that feeling came with a single thought. “Forgive me, T’Pel.” Side by side, recorded in his memory, he hoped she would understand the next time they were joined. She had been very understanding of his struggles with his own private demons and he hoped her understanding would translate to his newly found fascination with this human female. He also allowed himself one more silent thought. “Forgive me, Kathryn.” Because, if he were to be honest with himself, and her, his desire to help her wasn’t truly congenial. Underlying the offer, he was going to make her was a simple, self-serving purpose. Desire._

            He broke the meld and opened his eyes to consider her for a moment. As she opened her eyes, the light in the room found them, igniting the blue depths, threatening to drown him in that fathomless ocean. He sensed a subtle change in her demeanor, and he suspected it was a residual of the meld. She seemed a little more centered.

            “I believe I can be of assistance to you, Kathryn.”

            She attempted to read his emotions from his face, but he was a mask to her. He betrayed nothing, even when he was inside her head, all she could sense was a carefully constructed wall of self-control. She had come to know that one only constructed a wall for one of two purposes: to keep something out or… to keep something in. In his case, she had a feeling it was the latter more than the former.

            “And, how do you propose to be of assistance to me. You have seen the… depravity which is my self-prescribed therapy. I can’t imagine you are making that kind of an offer and, to be frank, you’re not exactly the type I look for in a dungeon master. No offense intended.”

            “My offer is similar in nature to your _self-prescribed therapy_ , though conducted in a safer, more controlled environment which affords you complete anonymity from being discovered.”

            She considered him very carefully. He, who was her assigned babysitter, was offering to help her skirt the regs and avoid detection? She cocked an eyebrow at him, convinced there was a catch.

            Anticipating the reason for her pause, he continued: “the only satisfaction I would derive from this exercise is aiding you in refining your self-control and ensuring you are afforded the opportunity to advance your career.”

            “Mr. Tuvok, are Vulcan’s capable of lying?”

            This time, the cocked eyebrow look was returned to her. She was far more perceptive than he gave her credit for and he decided, in that moment, that he would never make the mistake of under-estimating her again. “It is within our capacity, but not a practice we routinely engage in.”

            “Alright, then level with me and tell me the _real_ reason you desire to help me. Up until the meld, we were nearly complete strangers and you were ready to throw me to the mercy of the review board. After being inside my head, you have the sudden and overwhelming urge to help me?” Poker. She had a sixth sense for when people were bluffing, and she was calling his.

            “In aiding you with your own emotional control, I seek to better understand the nature of human emotions.” Once again, it wasn’t entirely the truth, however it was as much of it as he would admit to.

            “I see. So, we would be helping one another?”

            “Precisely.”

            The idea had its intrigue, though she had no clue how he meant to help her and in what manner, or how it would compare to her perverse desire for the pain which gave way to the insurmountable, twisted satisfaction she derived from victory over her foe. She asked on his methods, trying to envision what he had planned.

            “I can provide you challenges which are not easy to defeat, that are designed to push your level of tolerance to the breaking point. I can provide you with an opponent that is matched to your strengths and weaknesses.”

            She gave him a grim half-smile. “If you are suggesting a holo-program, no thank you. Photons and forcefields combined with safeties are not the same as a living, breathing, bleeding person.”

            “Shall I provide you with a sample of what I can offer, Kathryn?”

            The smile was gone from her face as his tone lowered. The way he said her name made it sound like poison. She hadn’t trusted anyone with such personal aspects of herself since Justin. He knew her secrets. He knew what she needed, and he had delivered exquisitely.

            “Show me…”

            No sooner had the words left her mouth, he swooped in, pressing his fingers to the focal points on her face, thrusting himself back into her mind and taking full control over her thoughts and visions. He took the battleground into the confines of her mind.

            _“The mind is the ultimate in sensory manipulation,” he informed the representation of her person within her thoughts. He advanced upon her, his hands closing around her biceps, holding her flush against him. “In the confines of your mind, I can make you feel anything I desire.” He conjured feelings of flames licking her skin and her nervous system responded as though she were being burned and a shriek exploded from her throat._

_Barely having recovered from the burning sensation, she found herself suddenly face down on a leather upholstered table, her arms and legs bound, leaving her spread eagle and nude. She gazed up at him as he stood before her, completely nude. She couldn’t help but allow her eyes to take in his toned physique, long sinewy legs, muscular thighs, and semi-erect member. Even half-awake he was impressive._

_“I am not even required to touch you, within your mind.” And he demonstrated. He never moved from her sight, yet she felt the sensation of a whip cracking across her ass, splitting her skin. Then, just as sudden, she was filled with the sensation of two gloved fingers pushing their way into her and she realized she was dripping wet for those fingers. She contorted her neck to look over her shoulder, expecting to find that he had conjured a leather-clad dungeon master, but, instead, found herself staring across the empty room. A feeling a disappointment filled her. He really was conjuring these feelings from her mind. How did she resist such control over her body, her mind, when he could merely think it and create it? How did she rail against the demons when he could create demons from thin air that were figments of his own imagination and completely invisible?_

_He felt the emotion from her. Disappointed, was she? As was he. He wanted to touch her, feel her in his mind, allow the physical representation of himself to maul and manhandle her in her mind. But not tonight. He was far too mentally drained for the level of self-control required to accomplish a feat such as that. If he were to let that occur, he might lose himself completely._

_“Resist me,” he ordered, continuing the sensation of a gloved hand manipulating her, beginning to feel her heat through a disembodied hand that wasn’t even his own. He realized he needed her to resist him in order to break the meld. He was invested and if she didn’t resist, he might lose himself yet. He hadn’t expected his own darkness to find her so intoxicating… so irresistible._

_Kathryn decided to follow his orders. The act of deciding was a powerful one on its own because she hadn’t been at liberty to decide a single thing since he began this demonstration. She summoned the crazed mental fortitude she had found in herself in that Cardassian cell so long ago. She envisioned the ropes that bound her to the table fraying as had the resolve of the Gul when she licked blood from his lips. To her surprise, one by one, the threads of the ropes began to give until she was able to pull against them and snap them. She freed herself of the table and dispelled the hand that had been manipulating her. She sighted her captor, the dark Vulcan who was now her prey as he stood, enthralled by her as she shifted the balance of power._

_She advanced upon him, trying to find the power within herself to mentally hold him in place, to prevent him from escaping. Her sexual frustration was peaked, she desired the feel of flesh. As she reached him, her hand extended before her, fingertips drifted along the curve of his left hip, she was suddenly expelled from the meld and found herself somewhere else entirely, wide-eyed, and shaken._

“Wha…” she tried to ask, slightly dazed from the transition back to reality, the resort room swayed for a moment before her vision corrected itself.

            “A sampling of what I can provide to aid your struggles.”

            She was battling pent up sexual energy and a need to defeat her demons that were left screaming inside of her. She needed her release from their clutches. She swallowed hard, vying for control, for some semblance of sanity. “I see,” she replied, smoothly, playing at a calm she certainly did not feel.

            “Do you accept my offer of assistance?” he prompted.

            “Yes. You have me intrigued, Mr. Tuvok. If nothing else, it will provide an… interesting diversion.”

            As he obtained her agreement for future encounters, a dark fantasy played out behind his calm exterior. He saw himself clearing the contents of the table in her living space with a swipe of his arm, taking her by the wrist, and forcing her down over its surface. He saw long, dark fingers gripping the curve of alabaster hips while his other hand traveled over her rips, up over her chest, and wrapped around her throat, pulling her back at a near impossible angle, tight enough to trip her adrenaline response, yet loose enough to just barely allow her to still force breath past his grip and into her lungs. He would feel her pulse quicken under his hand as he pushed every centimeter of himself into her tight, silken opening until he filled her completely. He saw himself fucking her, the lip of the table pressed against her lower abdomen, securing her in place as he pummeled into her, his hand releasing her throat to find her face, initiating a meld so as to infect her with his own perverse desires that were loath to any disciplined Vulcan. He would introduce her to his insatiable lust and a level of stamina that would put any of her human lovers to shame. He would control her responses within the meld, enhancing the effect on her nervous system, forcefully delaying her climax until she nearly went mad with the wanting as he as he fucked her mercilessly over that table…  

            “Very well. I shall forego my report to the review board, and we shall continue with another session next week.”

            _Next week? He meant to leave her in this state for an entire week?!_

Before she could protest, a single hand touched the contact points on her face and a wave of cooling calm spread throughout her body as though she had been ripped in a refreshing pool of liquid tranquility. She’d never felt such quiet in her own mind since… since ever. It was a strange but entirely welcome sensation.

            “A gift of lingering calm. It is not permanent but should suffice for now.” Although he left her with a gift of tranquility, he hadn’t been left with the same sensation. Instead, he absorbed her demons into himself, internally wrestling with the dark ocean that threatened to swallow him, battling forbidden fantasies that should have been beneath him. Her struggle was now his own and he relished in it like a madman. He looked forward to the war to be waged, to the victory.

            She paused to inhale deeply, feeling tired but peaceful. “Thank you,” she replied, sincerely.

            “Should I call on you when you return to San Francisco?” he asked.

            “Mmm? Yes. Next week. At my apartment,” she agreed.

            “Good night, Kathryn.”

            “Good night, Tuvok,” she replied as he let himself out of her room.

            Kathryn pondered what had transpired between them as she made herself ready for bed. She knew he was not being entirely honest with her about his intentions in helping her, sensing a dark current within him that he struggled to control. Perhaps not so much in recent history, but she suspected he had secrets… things that challenged his control over his own demons and, in that way, they were kindred spirits. He had decades more practice at learning control than she had, and she found herself looking forward to the experiences they were going to share. She had to believe that this was only the beginning of what she hoped would be an enduring and rewarding friendship, even if it was conceived under the most peculiar of circumstances.

            He’d left abruptly because he had to, not because he wanted to, but he knew if he had stayed, there would be danger to them both. It was the same reason he abruptly broke the meld at the first opportunity he could. He knew he should never have offered her a sample in his weakened state. The mind meld had its tolls and took great stamina to safely maintain. Reentering a meld with her immediately after the first had been a risk. It had been a foolish risk but had produced the desired result. She was decisive in his ability to help her, or at least divert her, once she had a taste of his powers. He would never have revealed to her that both of them had been in danger for a moment, nor would he ever tell her that he was concerned that his dark fantasy would play out in reality were he to remain a moment longer. Before he ever reached his own room, he knew he would be confined to several days of mediation to regain his self-control and discipline and as he walked into the resort called _Celestial Pier_ , he informed the guest coordinator that he was not to be disturbed for 72 hours for any reason. He didn’t wait for her acknowledgement before taking the lift to his room, knowing his state presented a danger to himself and others.

            It had been worth the risk. He anticipated that as a result of their interconnected nature, their mutual need, whether he wanted it or not, he was forging a friendship with this human woman he had previously regarded as an assignment that was beneath himself. _She_ was worth the risk.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt like he was in control. She let him believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As will become clear, this takes place after Counterpoint and borrows elements from the episode Counterpoint and from the following of the Counterpoint Vignettes:  
> Denial, The Second Circle, and He'd Pity You by Mia Cooper  
> The Seventh Bar and This Monstrous Feeling by Little Obsessions  
> ***********************************************************************************************************************************

            She’d taken a risk. The price she’d paid this time was just another of the tolls the damnable Delta Quadrant had collected from her that she was left to reconcile with. Faces. Names. She didn’t want to remember them, but they clamored at her from beyond the grave, demanding answers she didn’t have to give. At least this time, they hadn’t lost anyone, at least not to death. She, however, had lost another piece of herself in Devore space. She wondered how many pieces she could lose before she fell apart altogether.

            She wasn’t worried about Starfleet, now. Surely, they would have something to say about her actions if…when they got back. They had been given permission to enter and traverse Devore space and were duty bound to uphold and respect the laws of the Devore. In the name of saving them years on their journey, they had concealed Tuvok and Vorik, breaking the laws as soon they entered their territory. _Knowingly_ breaking the laws. That transgression was bad enough, but then to pick up and conceal with refugees was even worse. It didn’t matter that the laws of the Devore were cruel, inhumane, and would have violated any number of humanoid rights laws in her Quadrant. They weren’t in _her_ Quadrant. It wasn’t for her to judge then violate the laws of another culture in their own territory, yet rather than take the extra years and go around, she plowed straight through, consequences be damned.

            _It was her fault._

            Tuvok and the others had been put in danger. And Kashyk had known her game practically from the beginning. She wasn’t entirely sure when he figured her out, but at least by the third inspection, and yet he toyed with her. He had read her like a book. But of course, he had. He had read her personal logs. He had devoured every single bit of her personal life, of his adversary he possibly could, sizing her up as he sat across from her, feasting his eyes on her from across her desk, sitting in her chair. So, they played their game of cat and mouse; only, he didn’t know he was really the mouse.

            She hated herself for having wanted to believe him when he played at defection. She hated herself for all of the things she had done that would never make even her personal log. And, what was worse was, she hated herself because Chakotay knew that she had finally reduced herself to whoring for their protection. How could she dispute him? She had danced with the devil only to have him bend her face-first over the sofa in his guest quarters and dine on her dignity.

            And, she’d never told him no.

            She went to _him_ because Chakotay couldn’t give her what she needed.

            She encouraged him, flirted with him, let him slap her face and call her a _gaharay_ whore. He whispered filthy degradations, riding her while she dripped for him, while she moaned and practically begged him for more. He felt like he was in control. She let him believe it.

            Then Chakotay healed the remnants left behind, _knowing_ what she’d done. Or at least he thought he knew. The depths of her depravity were beyond what he understood.

_*“I wanted you to fuck me.”_

_“I know,” he answered, rising to his feet, taking her hands and bringing her upright with him. “But that’s not what I want, Kathryn.”*_

She was fucked up. And yet he wanted to love her. And she wanted to hate him for it. All she would do was taint him for life with the twisted sickness within her, and despite that, he loved her. At the same time, she wanted to tell him everything, wanted to spill the contents of her putrid soul, of who she was before the Cardassians and who she was reborn to be. Of why she let Kashyk fuck her for his guards, record her presumably as a reminder for himself that he could jack off to later. Wanted to tell him _everything._ It was too much. Too monumental. She didn’t know where to begin. She let him go.

 

            After he left her that night, a kernel of hope still throbbed somewhere within that out of the depravity they might salvage something together, even though he knew. And yet, she still reeked like Kashyk, like sin, and the memories of him feeding her demons crushed her within.

            _“He’d pity you.”_

As they left Devore space, she knew deep within the black ocean that roiled within her, that she hadn’t been victorious. He had, somehow, swept the rug right out from beneath her. She played her cards well, she held her poker face, and when the moment came, he trumped the ace up her sleeve and she was left aching, hating, and wanting more. She lost more in Devore space than she’d came prepared to play with. The worst part was, she knew Kashyk was departing _knowing_ she had lost.

            _Fuck._

_“For what it’s worth, you made a tempting offer.”_

            Officially, _he_ had lost. Until that moment, she had almost been convinced that she and her crew would be seeing the inside of a Devore detention center. Well. Her crew would. She knew he would keep her for his own personal amusements for a while, perhaps let his men have their choice of their own diversions before shipping off the rest to their deaths. That he was letting them go surprised her. But it shouldn’t have. He appreciated a worthy adversary and she had a feeling he was too entranced with her to destroy her. No. There was _something_ she was missing. And yet, she hadn’t found it.

            He’d paused to share one last look with her, one final searing look that went straight to her soul, reminding her that he had owned her, that he knew her, that he had devoured her from within.  And that she had _asked_ for it; practically begged for it.

            The moment that Chakotay and Tuvok returned to the bridge, she escaped to her ready room, failing to hand over command to either before she slipped away without a word, two pairs of eyes watching he retreat. She wasn’t even certain the door was entirely closed behind her before she vomited in the waste receptacle.

            When she composed herself, she wondered who would be the first through the door. She wasn’t certain who she preferred: the man she loved but couldn’t bring herself to accept fully--or the stoic friend who had provided therapeutic counsel over the years after having stepped across the threshold into her mind to know her demons.

            Both gave her space.

            Space wasn’t what she needed. But she couldn’t bring herself to go to either of them. With Chakotay, she didn’t know where to begin. With Tuvok, it had been years since he had provided the kind of counsel she now needed.

            Two days after exiting Devore space, Tuvok was the first to breach the barrier in the way of an uncharacteristic visit to her quarters. Her skin was still red and hot from the blistering shower she had taken, trying to remove the remnants of Kashyk that still hung about her. The silky robe she had donned only served to remind her of the demands of the flesh the way its soft texture skittered across ultra-sensitive flesh. She watched as he took in her battle wounds, self-inflicted from a too-hot shower and inviting the beast to fuck her.

            “Can I offer you some tea, Tuvok?” she asked, ignoring his observant visual sweep of her form, knowing he was wondering at the wounds hidden beneath the robe.

            “Thank you, no.”

            She sat on the couch near the viewport and gestured for him to join her. Her state of undress didn’t concern her. He had seen far more of her than nude flesh and it didn’t occur to her to feel revealed in his presence.

            “Are you well, Captain?” he asked, opening the conversation in the pointed direction he was curious about.

            _Was she well?_ She was entirely too many things, but well wasn’t among the list. “Under the circumstances, I am as well as anyone could expect. And you, Tuvok, how are you doing?” She had forgotten to inquire as to his condition following his extended and frequent stays in their pattern buffers.

            “The Doctor has repaired any cellular degradation I experienced and has assured me that there is no permanent damage.

            “That’s good to hear,” she replied in a melancholy tone, gazing out at the stars as they streaked by, putting distance between herself and Kashyk too slowly for her liking. How long before she would feel like she could breathe again without forcing it past the hand that was gripped around her throat?

            “Our recent encounter with the Devore has left you disquieted,” he observed. He did not know what had transpired between her and the Devore Inspector, but it would have been a breach of his duties not to pay attention to the ship's gossip.

            Was it that? Kashyk should have been just another therapeutic means to excise her demons, a triumph over him should have left her feeling strong, should have given her the power to beat back the depravity that had become hers in that Cardassian cell too many years ago. But there was something that nagged at her heartstrings and that was an entirely new and uncharacteristic feeling. She almost felt mournful and the only thing she could equate it to was that Chakotay _knew._ And now she _knew_ he could never give her what she needed when it took her into its dark clutches. But he wanted to love her. How fucked up was that? That he wanted to actually _love_ her. Broken, twisted, fucked-up her who didn’t have the first clue how to give him what he _wanted._

With Justin, it had been about need. He rescued her, recognized her for what she truly was, then fed her needs. He grounded her and she wasn’t willing to ever let that go. She loved him for that, but it was different because it started with him realizing what she needed, then giving it to her. Losing him was what sent her to the clubs for her own brand of therapy then being found out by Tuvok which gave way to her managing to act normal enough to have a relationship that was _normal_. 

            But she’d only been playing at normal with Mark. In her heart, she knew all along that she couldn’t commit, that she actively avoided that trip down the aisle because it wouldn’t last. He was comfortable, familiar, accepted the act the presented, and never asked where she went on leaves that weren’t spent on Earth with him.

            With Chakotay, facing down her angry warrior on the bridge for the first time, she thought she had found her match in a man. Someone who understood her on a level that didn’t demand words. But, while he fought to temper his anger, while he found his peace in serving her, in loving her from afar, she continued to be alone in her dark chasm, no matter what devotion he professed.

            She found her therapy elsewhere. Planet-side among species she’d never encountered, with techniques she hadn’t known existed. Tuvok covered for her absences, knowing the truth and also knowing why he could not continue providing her with the assistance he previously had before Voyager.

            “I am… distracted,” she finally settled on.

            “Do you require assistance?”

            She was surprised at him even offering, but she knew it came from the right place. They had long ago terminated his _assistance_ to her when he had accidentally revealed himself to her. She refused to lose a long-term friend and confidant, but once she felt his level of desire for her during one of their sessions as his control momentarily slipped, she absolutely could _not_ continue. They never spoke of it aloud, but she knew he was aware of his slip and hadn’t offered since.

            “Not entirely,” she replied, yet invited him to find his face with his long fingers to initiate a meld. These were demons that she wasn’t ready to excise, but more needed him to see, to understand what had happened.  So she invited him into her mind to show him, bemused that if the Doctor knew what they were doing, he would likely birth a holographic cow.

_Tuvok found himself immersed in her mind, the chaos of rapid thoughts was nearly too much, but he quickly managed to order her memories and took in all that he had missed while he had been in suspended animation within the ship's systems. He watched the Inspector toy with her, then fuck her mercilessly, taunting her as he talked about Chakotay. He witnessed the interplay between her and the Commander, realizing that if he’d been able to give her what she needed, it was quite possibly her physical and emotional involvement with Kashyk could have been limited. But she was a hunter and Kashyk had given her all the signals of the prey she found insatiable. Chakotay would have merely been a stand-in for what she truly needed, and she would have hated herself for having used him in that way. Tuvok was in no way surprised when she went to the Inspector, demanding that he fuck her. He was equally unsurprised when he fucked her in front of his men, recording the moment for preservation. He wondered at what the Inspector did with that recording but assumed it was to memorialize the event for himself. Undoubtedly, he had a library full of such recordings of men and women he pursued on his own terms or captured and enslaved._

            “I never lied to you. My offer to take you with us was genuine and it would still stand if you’d kept your part of the bargain.”

            “For what it’s worth, you made a tempting offer.”

_Those words echoed around everything that her brain had stored as memory. They woke her out of her sleep the last two nights. They were foreboding to her in a way that she simply could not shake. Deep within, she seemed to have this innate knowing that this would not be her final dance with Kashyk, and what ate at her the most was that she couldn’t decide if she loathed the idea or was anxiously looking forward to their next refrain._

            Tuvok left her mind, breaking the meld. He left her with the gift of her thoughts being slightly more ordered, but no less vexing. She was like a moth to the flame, and Kashyk had been the inferno she desired, glutton for punishment.

            She was filled with contempt for herself at having unintentionally created a sort of triad between herself, Chakotay and Kashyk. She was disgusted with herself at not being able to accept what Chakotay promised: some semblance of normalcy, of love. In counterpoint to her feelings related to Chakotay was a repugnance for herself that she _wanted_ Kashyk; was drawn to the darkness within him despite his atrocities.

            From herself, Tuvok knew he could not save her, and he got the clear signal that she did not want him to try.  That feeling of victory she demanded as payment from her master had not yet come, and it left her demons crying out against the injustice of having been robbed of their prize. She still burned for him and looked forward to the impossibility of meeting him again, battling with him again, because no matter how she sliced it, she _knew_ that their fatalistic tango was not over.


End file.
